Pido mil disculpa ya que escogí una composición algo difícil y más en estos momentos que aún me encuentro con las molestias de la tos, debido a que nos cayo algo de lluvia, pero fue un reto que me trace. Agradezco al tío @osomeltrozo y a la tía @dealtokilate por su inmenso apoyo y paciencia. Bendiciones 🙏🏽🤗
Blessed encounter dear #Hiveopenmic community, here I am again to share with you on this theme that unites us week after week, this time convened by Mrs. Teresa @rosamalinda, where we will have to pay tribute to older adults, those people who they did their bit, so that each of us can find ourselves interacting at this time, such as grandparents, I only met my maternal grandmother and her husband who was the only grandfather with whom I lived, since both my mother's father and my Dad died when I was very little. The little I know about them is that they were from the Canary Islands, yes, both, and I knew the song that I will interpret for her, when I was very young, from the voice of the First of Venezuela Mirla Josefina Castellanos Peñaloza "Mirla Castellano" In 1969 she released what would become one of her flagship songs: «El Abuelo», by Argentine singer-songwriter Alberto Cortez. And in homage to all those adults who emigrated to seek a better future and planted their seeds far from their lands without being able to return to their motherland is my theme.
I apologize since I chose a somewhat difficult composition and more at this time that I still find myself with the discomfort of a cough, because some rain fell on us, but it was a challenge for me to trace. I thank uncle @osomeltrozo and aunt @dealtokilate for their immense support and patience. Blessings 🙏🏽🤗
El Abuelo / Grandpa
El abuelo un día, cuando era muy joven,
Allá en su Galicia,
Miró el horizonte y pensó
Que otra senda tal vez existía.
Y al viento del norte, que era un viejo amigo,
Le habló de su prisa,
Le mostró sus manos,
Que mansas y fuertes, estaban vacías,
Y el viento le dijo:
"Construye tu vida
Detrás de los mares,
Allén de Galicia".
Y el abuelo un día,
En un viejo barco se marchó de España.
El abuelo un día,
Como tantos otros, con tanta esperanza.
La imagen querida de su vieja aldea
Y de sus montañas se llevó grabada
Muy dentro del alma, cuando el viejo barco
Lo alejó de España.
Y el abuelo un día subió a la carreta
De subir la vida.
Empuñó el arado, abonó la tierra
Y el tiempo corría.
Y luchó sereno por plantar el árbol
Que tanto quería.
Y el abuelo un día lloró bajo el árbol
Que al fin florecía,
Lloró de alegría
Cuando vio sus manos,
Que un poco más viejas,
No estaban vacías.
Y el abuelo entonces,
Cuando yo era niña, me hablaba de España,
Del viento del norte, de su vieja aldea
Y de sus montañas.
Le gustaba tanto recordar las cosas
Que llevó grabadas muy dentro del alma,
Que a veces callado, sin decir palabra,
Me hablaba de España.
Y el abuelo un día, cuando era muy viejo,
Allen de Galicia,
Me tomó la mano y yo me di cuenta que ya,
Que ya se moría.
Entonces me dijo,
Con muy pocas fuerzas
Y con menos prisa:
"Prométeme, hija,
Que a la vieja aldea irás algún día
Y al viento del norte dirás que su amigo,
A una nueva tierra le entregó su vida".
Y el abuelo un día
Se quedó dormido, sin volver a España.
El abuelo un día,
Como tantos otros, con tanta esperanza...
¡Y al tiempo el abuelo
Lo vi en las aldeas, lo vi en las montañas,
En cada mañana y en cada leyenda,
Por toda la senda que anduve de España!
Grandpa one day, when he was very young,
There in his Galicia,
He looked at the horizon and thought
That another path perhaps existed.
And to the north wind, that he was an old friend,
He told her about his haste,
He showed her his hands,
How meek and strong, they were empty,
And the wind told him:
"Build your life
Behind the seas,
Allén de Galicia ".
And the grandfather one day,
In an old ship he left Spain.
Grandpa one day
Like so many others, with so much hope.
The beloved image of your old village
And from the mountains she was engraved
Deep within the soul, when the old ship
It took him away from Spain.
And the grandfather one day got on the wagon
Of raising life.
He drew the plow, he fertilized the land
And time was ticking.
And he struggled serenely to plant the tree
That he wanted so much.
And grandpa one day cried under the tree
That finally flourished,
He wept with joy
When he saw his hands,
That a little older,
They were not empty.
And the grandfather then,
When I was a child, he used to tell me about Spain,
From the north wind, from his old village
And from her mountains.
He liked to remember things so much
That he had engraved deep inside his soul,
That he is sometimes silent, without saying a word,
He was talking to me about Spain.
And the grandfather one day, when he was very old,
Allen from Galicia,
He took my hand and I realized that already,
That he was already dying.
Then he told me,
With very little strength
And with less rush:
"Promise me, daughter,
That you will go to the old village one day
And to the north wind you will say that his friend,
He gave his life to a new land."
And grandpa one day
He fell asleep, never returning to Spain.
Grandpa one day
Like so many others, with so much hope ...
And at the same time grandfather
I saw it in the villages, I saw it in the mountains,
In every morning and in every legend,
Throughout the path that I walked from Spain!
